I'm a proper student; I only take nine kinds of potions every day.

Chapter 133 Tavern, Lord-level Bloodthirsty Seed

At seven o'clock, the two got off the tram.

Maverick Square is quite lively in the late November evenings.

The cast-iron fountain in the center of the square has been closed due to the onset of winter. The surrounding buildings are mainly three- or four-story red brick apartments, with various small shops on the ground floor.

Italian bakeries, Jewish tailors, Irish pubs—the signs are all sorts of things.

This area is the most typical immigrant community in East Bolton, and the faces of pedestrians walking on the street come from all over the world.

An old man selling roasted chestnuts from a pushcart huddled on a street corner, while several workers in thick woolen coats argued loudly in Italian.

Hill led Evan into a narrow alley on the left side of the square, heading west.

They eventually arrived at the edge of a building.

To be precise, it's a facade hidden in the shadow of the taller building in front.

If Hill hadn't led the way, Evan would never have noticed that there was a tavern here.

Its storefront is only half the width of an ordinary shop, and its signboard is pitifully small, hanging above the door frame and completely shrouded in the shadow cast by the adjacent buildings.

The signboard reads the word: Luck.

A very common and ubiquitous name.

The tavern seemed to be doing fairly ordinary business. You could see people inside through the half-open door, but there weren't many, and they wouldn't attract the attention of any passersby.

There were two people standing at the door.

Two burly men, wearing long black overcoats, had their hands in their pockets and their hats pulled low.

But the two pairs of eyes under the brim of the hat were as sharp as blades, scanning every pedestrian who approached.

Hill stepped forward and uttered a string of letters in a flat tone.

mve.

""

The two burly men grunted in agreement and turned their gazes to Ivan.

Hill said, "A newcomer to my faction."

Then she gestured to Evan to give her a hand.

Evan understood. He didn't make any unnecessary movements, simply letting the Demon Hunter form flash across his body.

The silver hair shone for a second, the golden vertical pupils flashed briefly, and then returned to normal.

The two burly men nodded; they recognized the Witcher's features.

"Do we have a slogan?" one of them asked.

Hill glanced at Evan: "Moyc, please."

Evan immediately followed, nodding, "Yes, Moyc."

The two burly men grunted in agreement and stepped aside to clear the doorway.

Don't forget to tell him the rules.

Hill hummed in agreement, and the two pushed open the door and went inside.

The interior space is much larger than it appears from the outside.

It is about 100 square meters, with two areas on the left and right separated by several thick wooden pillars, and a long bar in front.

The lighting was dim, there were no lights, only candles.

A dozen or so thick candles were placed on iron candlesticks in various corners, casting swaying, warm yellow light.

Compared to the noisy immigrant taverns outside, this place was unusually quiet.

Some people were talking quietly in the corner, some were sitting alone drinking, but no one was talking loudly, and no one was drunk and causing trouble.

Ding Ding Ding!

A string of small bells hanging above the door rang crisply as the two pushed the door open.

In the left corner, a young man raised his head.

He has a South American face, dark brown skin, black curly hair, and a neatly trimmed short beard on his chin.

Wearing a thick wool-knitted coat and a brightly colored scarf around the neck, she exudes a casual and enthusiastic vibe unique to Latin America.

When he saw Hill, a smile immediately spread across his face.

"Oh! Our beautiful Adolf has arrived!"

He stood up from his chair and walked towards the two of them.

"You actually have a male companion today?"

Hill curled his lip: "I advise you to go home and check on your wife; she might have run off with someone else again."

The young man laughed heartily after hearing this, completely unconcerned: "Don't worry! I put her in a coffin before I came out today."

Hill turned to the side and pointed at Evan.

"Arkham, my junior apprentice, is new to the business. Please help him out."

She pointed at the young man again: "Just call him Juan, it's a very common name."

Ivan immediately flashed his signature sunny, harmless, and cheerful smile and extended his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Brother Juan."

Juan walked over and grasped Ivan's hand with a rough, calloused hand.

His grip was very strong, but Evan didn't budge.

Juan glanced down at their clasped hands, then looked up at Ivan's beaming face for two seconds.

"Arkham, that smile of yours is dangerous and could easily get you into a lot of trouble."

He released his grip and patted Ivan on the shoulder.

"There aren't many people as innocent as you in this industry."

Hill almost burst out laughing, but she quickly changed the subject.

"How's your mission going?"

A hint of fatigue suddenly appeared on Juan's usually enthusiastic face.

"Things have gone wrong. The boundaries of the Dream Realm have been very unstable lately, so we'll have to leave it at that for now."

Hill nodded: "Then you go ahead and do your work, I have something to do here."

39

After saying goodbye to Juan, the two walked towards the bar.

There were two people behind the bar at that moment.

Standing there was a young man, dressed in a crisp black and white bartender uniform, wiping glasses.

The movements were skillful and professional.

The other was a middle-aged man leaning against the side of the bar.

She was dressed in a rather retro court outfit, a deep red velvet coat with medieval lace trim on the cuffs and collar, and a pure gold lily badge pinned to her chest.

Judging from the overall style, it should be French court attire from about two or three hundred years ago.

At this moment, the middle-aged man was holding a wine glass filled with a dark red, viscous liquid.

The moment Evan saw the cup, he instinctively swallowed.

That's not wine, it's blood!

Or to be more precise, this is blood wine!

Hill walked up to the bar and spoke with a hint of respect in his voice.

"Mr. French, my fellow student."

The middle-aged man turned around upon hearing the voice, his gaze immediately falling on Ivan.

The moment their eyes met, Ivan felt a strange resonance.

The blood in his body began to stir because of that gaze.

Thirsty Blood Seed!

A very high-level Bloodthirsty species!

Ibn instinctively tensed all his muscles, trying to calm his boiling blood.

At this moment, French seemed to sense something, then lazily withdrew his gaze and said with a smile.

"I've got it."

His voice was steady and pleasant, with a rich French court accent.

"What an impressive little guy."

Seeing that nothing serious had happened, Hill breathed a sigh of relief and said, "We need to buy some monster materials."

French nodded and said casually.

"Go ahead, the market has just opened."

Once the bleeding had subsided, Evan smiled at French with his sunny and cheerful smile.

Then, together with Hill, they pushed open the wooden door on the inside.

Behind the door is a wide and sturdy wooden staircase that extends downwards.

The surfaces of the wooden handrails on both sides have become glossy and shiny after being touched for many years.

As the two walked down, Hill lowered his voice and said.

"Mr. French, real name unknown, is a lord-level bloodthirsty species who has lived for eight hundred years."

Ivan slowed his pace slightly and looked at Hill.

She continued, "And through special methods, we have overcome the effects of sunlight."

"My ancestors once fought against him, but unfortunately they failed."

Ivan asked, surprised, "Why didn't Priss come looking for him?"

Hill said, "Pris's wish was grand; he longed for all bloodthirsty races to overcome the sun."

"Mr. French's method seems to have come at a special price, and it only works for him, so it has no reference value for Price."

Ivan said "oh," and then he immediately thought of another question.

"But Senior Sister, your ancestors fought against him, isn't that a blood feud? How dare you buy things on his territory?"

Hill sighed, a sigh that carried a weariness beyond her years.

"Times have changed, kid."

"The fighting was for population and resources. He needed blood slaves, and his ancestors needed serfs."

"Now all these things are under the control of the gold system, either working on farms or risking their lives in factories."

"What are we still fighting for?"

Then she lowered her voice, with the cautiousness and excitement of a woman talking about gossip.

"I heard that he was forced to sell his castle to a wealthy man because he couldn't afford the property taxes and the cost of restoring the cultural relics, and then he went into exile in the New World."

She shrugged, her tone full of helplessness.

"Everyone's working for gold these days, they don't have the energy to fight anymore."

Hearing this, Ivan couldn't help but burst out laughing: "That's absolutely amazing!"

As they spoke, the two walked down the steps and arrived at the basement.

Suddenly, everything became clear to Evan.

An underground market, not very large but quite bustling, appeared before him.

Centered on a three-meter-wide passageway, there are three rows of shops on each side.

All the shops have uniform glass counters, like jewelry store display cases, displaying all sorts of things.

Organs of monsters, fragments of magical artifacts, ores of unknown purpose, and strangely colored liquids —

Candlelight streamed down from the iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the glass surfaces of the counters and refracting them into a kaleidoscope of colors.

There were about forty people browsing the market at that time.

Men and women of all ages.

There were middle-aged gentlemen in respectable suits, old women wrapped in tattered shawls, and even a few children who looked only four or five years old.

"So small—" Evan was about to exclaim when he realized what was happening.

"oh!"

He remembered.

Those "children" must be what the snake people look like after they were resurrected.

My body regressed to that of a five-year-old.

Hill explained from the side.

"The basement level is a market. You can rent a stall here to sell your own goods, or you can sell directly to the tavern. The price is lower, but it's more convenient."

"The second basement level is the bounty area, where all sorts of hunting missions are posted."

"I took the exorcism case with Morales from there."

Ivan's gaze wandered among the dazzling array of products on the counter.

Things I've seen before—water ghost brains, black water ghost livers, banshee eyeballs—are everywhere here.

Price tags were written in small print on the side slips of paper, ranging from seven or eight dollars to several tens of dollars.

There are also a huge number of things I've never seen before, with different scents, bizarre shapes, and all sorts of colors.

A three-eyed toad soaking in a jar, a deer antler emitting a faint blue light, and a glass jar filled with moving black sand —

He even saw a pair of transparent ballet shoes.

The shoes were displayed in a black velvet box, with white satin uppers, pink ribbons, and obvious signs of wear at the toes.

The toe and sole have a crystal-like texture.

There was something else inside the shoe.

A pair of pale white female feet, neatly cut off at the ankle, the cross-section as smooth as a work of art.

The skin on those feet was so white it was almost transparent, and you could see the blue veins underneath.

Her toenails were painted with light pink nail polish and were neatly trimmed.

They sat quietly inside the ballet shoes, as if ready to stand up and dance a waltz at any moment.

The moment Ivan saw it, the thought immediately crossed his mind: "What a pair of feet that drive countless prison guards mad!"

The price tag next to it reads: "Pale Dancer's Steps: $400 each".

"With his eyes on the market, Evan followed Hill through the aisles."

Then he saw a familiar face, the snake-man who had previously fought with them for the border ghouls.

Belonging to the Brotherhood of Secrets, he was fed a bellyful of viruses by Ivan and finally obediently handed over his spiritual blood.

At that moment, the snake-man was standing in front of a counter, with a blonde woman by his side, and the two of them were discussing and commenting on a certain item on the counter.

The snake-man looked quite smug, saying something to his female companion with a tone that suggested he knew a lot about snakes.

Ivan grinned quite kindly, revealing his bright, sunny smile.

The snake-man's gaze inadvertently swept across the passage before settling on Evan's face.

His voice stopped abruptly, as if someone had choked him.

The smugness on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a conditioned reflex of fear.

His body froze there, completely still.

"What's wrong?" The blonde woman next to her turned her head curiously.

The snake-man coughed and quickly looked away.

"It's nothing. I thought I saw someone I knew and mistook them for someone else."

He put his arm around his female companion's waist and started walking in the opposite direction.

"This place is no longer interesting, let's go somewhere else."

His pace was noticeably faster than before.

Hill covered her mouth with her hand and chuckled twice: "You're really naughty."

Evan looked completely innocent: "I was really just saying hello, senior sister."

The subsequent purchase process went quite smoothly.

This underground marketplace is already very well-established, with processes for purchasing, recording, authenticating, and receiving payments.

Hill told him that the place even had official endorsement and licenses.

"Instead of letting superhumans form their own secretive and unregulated little circles, it would be better to create a standardized large market that facilitates transactions and also makes regulation easier."

"Mr. French got the operating rights, and the government got the taxes and intelligence; each got what they wanted."

Ivan nodded; this logic was no different from his understanding of the legalization of gray industries in his previous life.

It's better to guide than to block.

>